


A Warmth in the Night

by hey_its_lyn



Series: TimKon Week 2020 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Science, M/M, Mild Language, Murder Mystery, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Pre-Relationship, Protective Kon-El | Conner Kent, Science Experiments, Supernatural Creatures, TimKon Week 2020, Undercover Missions, kind of, mild depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_its_lyn/pseuds/hey_its_lyn
Summary: When three San Francisco college students wind up dead, it's up to the Titans to find their murderer. With no leads, no tracks to follow, the Titans are desperate for answers.Tim Drake is a detective above all else, and between the murders and a mysterious lab nagging at the back of his mind, he's losing his patience bit by bit. Time is running out, and desperate times call for desperate measures.
Relationships: Bart Allen & Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent & Cassie Sandsmark, Conner Kent & Cassie Sandsmark, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: TimKon Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740391
Comments: 10
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TimKon Week Day 3: Supernatural Creatures / Smut
> 
> Only a little related to the prompt--I took some creative liberties.

Red Robin kneels down, gaze sweeping the scene in front of him, his eyes keen and calculating. Pressing his lips together, Red swipes his fingers through a small puddle of half-congealed goo. He rolls the goo between his fingers, feeling its gritty texture rub against his gloves. Red gathers a larger sample of the goo in an evidence vial and slides it into a compartment in his utility belt.

Moving to his feet, he hits the comm in his ear. “Red here. No sign of the assailant. I found a sample of some kind of goo outside the lab. I’ll test it at the tower once I finish sweeping the area.”

Wonder Girl’s voice crackles in his ear. _“Received. Hurry back and get testing. I finished my route early; I’ll cover the rest of yours.”_

“Understood. Red Robin out.”

Pulling his grapple from his belt, Red flies up to the roof of the lab he’s been investigating on the side. He has a nagging feeling it’s connected to the Titan’s ongoing case. His boots land silently on the roof, and the gravel shifts under his feet as he begins making his way back to his tower.

The fall air is cold and sharp against his cheeks. October is moving to November, and it’s chillier than normal. The air is tinged with the smell of the bay, the echoes of traffic following Red as he grapples through the air. His boots only meet the rooftops when he’s close enough to jump from building to building without issue, which becomes less and less frequent as he moves away from the city and closer to the Tower.

Red is just about to cross over into official Titan property when the constant low buzz of his comm is replaced by Superboy’s voice.

_“SB checking in. I’ve got another victim.”_

Wonder Girl swears. _“Where are you?”_

_“Potrero Hill. Jackson Playground off Mariposa street.”_

Kid Flash’s horror is obvious. _“At a playground? Please tell me it’s not a little kid.”_

_“No. Young man, wearing a CCA sweatshirt. He fits the basic profile of all the other victims.”_

“Do you guys want me there to survey the scene or do you want me to continue to the Tower to run tests?” Red asks.

 _“You’re the best eyes we’ve got,”_ Wonder Girl says. _“Meet us at the park. There might be more of what you found there as well.”_

Red turns on his heel, heading back into the city as the dim lights of the Tower flicker over his shoulder. “Understood. ETA fifteen minutes.”

_“Received. SB cordon off the area. KF, begin primary assessment. ETA seven minutes.”_

The echoes of affirmation trickle over the comm. Sometimes, Red truly hates that he is the only non-meta on his team—it makes travel time a total bitch. Wonder Girl is on the opposite side of the city, but flying cuts her time down exponentially.

Red practically flies across the rooftops himself. He forgoes his grapple for regular free running because the grapple gun takes time to fire and re-fire. If he takes larger jumps than he would normally risk, well, no one else has to know. The city life continues unaware beneath him. Red embraces the wind, glad to have it blowing to his back.

He’s moving fast enough that the lights blur around him. The city is constantly moving, alive in a way that Gotham never is. Gotham is cold and bitter and dark. San Francisco is brighter, somehow. Even with all of its own issues, its own team that draws enemies to its borders, San Fran is lighter than Gotham, even in the darkest of nights.

Red drops down into the playground after thirteen minutes. Superboy has the park closed down, and Kid Flash and Wonder Girl are inspecting the surrounding area. Superboy knows he’s there even before he lands.

“We left the body for you,” he says as Red draws to his feet. “You’re the best at this sort of thing.”

Red bites back a smart comment about just why he’s so good at looking at a dead body and finding out exactly what happens. Instead, he offers a firm nod and makes his way over to the body.

The assailant is now officially considered a serial killer. A third victim in five weeks. Same profile for all three, same type of attack, same timeline. Red is furious they haven’t already tracked the bastard down.

He takes in the body. It’s obvious he’s been moved from where he dies. His body is artfully displayed in the grass, arms splayed, one cheek pressed into the grass, presenting the other side of his face and drawing attention to his long neck. It’s much too dramatic to be natural.

It’s a young man, likely between nineteen and twenty-one, a university student based on the sweatshirt for the college only a few streets down. He has delicate features—pale skin, high cheekbones, dark curly hair. Red bets that if he opens the man’s eyes, they will be blue.

It’s the nearly the same profile of the two other victims of the serial killer: young, college student, black hair, blue eyes, and delicate features. It’s a fairly specific type, but San Francisco has thousands of people who will match that description. Worse, there’s now been two women and one man attacked. The killer won’t let gender limit them.

Red pulls a small camera from his belt; one he keeps especially for things like this. He built it himself, modified it so that it will take near professional-grade photographs while fitting in his utility belt and surviving his Red Robin patrols.

He takes photos of the body from every angle first. Then he sets the camera aside and goes to the victim himself. There’s bruising around the man’s ribs and wrists. His neck is a mottled mess of swelling and bruising, and sure enough, the neck displayed has two messy puncture marks resting front and center.

He finishes taking his pictures, both full body and area-specific. Then he collects hair, skin, and blood samples. It’d be better if he could properly exam the body, but the police will be here soon enough, and they’ll take the body from there. Red will just have to hack the database later to see if there’s anything he’s missed.

“I’m done,” he calls.

Kid Flash is beside him a moment later. “No one’s called it into the police yet. SB and Wonder Girl have scooped out the rest of the park and the surrounding area. Nothing in the park, but Superboy thinks he found the murder scene.”

Red perks up slightly. “Really?” Finding a murder scene when a body’s been moved is incredibly difficult, but can be essential to solving the case. “Where?”

“A small courtyard on CCA’s campus. Looks like the victim was there late and got caught on the way home.”

“Same as the other two then.”

Kid Flash nods. “Yeah. First place SB checked. Wonder Girl was checking some of the alleys near the student apartments off-campus.”

“Got it. Bring me over?”

Kid Flash smiles, though it’s thin and doesn’t reach his eyes. “No prob.”

Red barely has time to feel Kid Flash pick him up before they’re standing in a small, grassy courtyard next to a solemn Superboy.

“This scene’s a bit messier than the others, not that it’s saying much,” he says, arms crossed over his chest. “Looks like our guy had more time to react than the others.”

Red winces. He puts a hand on Superboy’s shoulder and offers a comforting squeeze. “We’ll catch this guy, SB. We always do.”

Superboy nods, still looking grim. Red sees his grip tighten, nails biting into the exposed skin of his arms. He gives Superboy one more squeeze before stepping away. He takes in the courtyard, instantly zoning in on where the murder occurred.

The killer doesn’t tend to make a mess. The bodies have always been moved, and Red has yet to find the other two murder scenes. This time, even though it’s barely noticeable, he sees what Superboy means.

The courtyard is in the shape of a small diamond, buildings lining it on the back two sides. There’s a path of small, concrete stones that lead across the grass, and there are a few benches scattered around the edges of the space.

One of the benches is crooked. The other benches are all carefully angled to make the courtyard completely symmetrical. The grass around the bench is torn up like it’s been kicked and run over. The guy likely didn’t have time to try and fight back, but he had enough time to see the killer coming and try and make a run for it before he was grabbed.

Taking a closer look at the bench, Red finds a smear of goo across the wood. He dabs at it with his fingers, and it feels the same as the sample he found earlier. He gathers a sample and slides it next to the earlier one in his belt.

Red takes his camera and quickly takes his photos. The chill of the night may not seep through his suit, but his face is stinging with the wind, no doubt a bright red. He turns to face his teammates with a frown.

“Let’s get back to the Tower. I’ll get more done running tests there.”

Kid Flash nods and disappears. Superboy shakes his head with a small, barely-there smile. He looks at Red over his shoulder.

“You want to tag along with me or are you going to do your bat thing?”

Red’s lips quirk up slightly. He thinks about declining, saying he’ll make his own way back as he drops a tip to the local PD and goes over theories in his head. It’s what he would normally do. But Red is tired and cold. This case has been wreaking havoc on his mind, and the suspicious lab activity won’t stop nagging at him. And Superboy is right there, steady and warm and offering.

Red’s defense crumbles. He releases some of the tension in his shoulders, finally feeling how exhausted he really is. “That’d be great actually. Thanks, SB.”

Superboy shrugs. “Anytime.”

He reaches out to grab onto Red, making sure that he’s secure before they shoot into the air. They’re higher up than Red would normally ever be with just his grapple. The noise of the city fades away, the lights dimming as they take off towards the Tower. Sure enough, Superboy is warm and solid. It allows Red to relax even more, even though his inner defenses are protesting like mad.

He and Superboy don’t talk on the way back. They’re both caught up in thinking about the murders, upset that yet another young person is dead. They know each other well enough to know that they need time to process before talking about anything heavy.

Minutes after they take off, Superboy is dropping down onto the roof of Titan’s Tower. He holds onto Red for what Red knows is a moment longer than strictly necessary. Red tries to shove the thought out of his mind.

Once his own feet are firmly on the ground, Red gives Superboy’s arm another squeeze. He doesn’t usually like to be touched while he’s thinking, but he knows that it’s something that grounds Superboy, something that brings him some semblance of comfort.

“Thanks for the ride.”

Superboy offers him a weak smile. “Sure thing.”

Red backs away, heading towards the Tower’s roof access. He can feel Superboy just a few steps behind him as he enters the door’s code. The security system beeps, and Red swings the door open. He pushes inside, waiting until Superboy has shut the outer door and allowed it to lock to enter a different code to the interior door.

The door authenticates the code and beeps, allowing Red and Superboy into the actual Tower. The walk to the locker rooms is a short one, and Red strips out of his uniform. He quickly changes into a set of comfortable civvies, practically drowning in the sweatshirt he stole from Kon years ago, before his year-long jaunt around the world. (Before the Infinite Crisis, but he tries not to think about that.) He throws his utility built over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna head to the lab,” he says.

Kon, now dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a plain cotton shirt, frowns. “Get something to eat first. I know you skipped dinner because you were looking into that lab.”

“I need to get the analysis started,” Tim protests. “I don’t know how long it will take the system to run its program. And then I need to look at all the victim’s profiles—”

“Tim,” Kon interrupts gently. “You need to eat. How about you set up for the sample analysis, then eat while it’s running?”

Tim frowns. “I don’t eat in the lab.”

“I meant eat in the kitchen and take a minute to relax. Once you’re done eating, then go check the results.”

Tim goes to protests, and Kon holds up a hand, cutting him off before he can even begin.

“C’mon, Tim. I know you wanted to go through the samples you got at the park and start on the profiles while it’s running, but if you do that, you’re not going to eat at all.”

Tim glares at him, but it’s hollow and missing any kind of true anger or threat. He bites the inside of his cheek, then slumps forward.

“Fine,” he says. “Let me set up the analysis and then I’ll head to the kitchen.”

Kon smiles thinly. “Let’s go.”

“I can go to the lab by myself.”

“I know.”

“Then you’re following me because…?”

Kon levels him with an exasperated look. “If I let you go alone, you’re going to ignore me and not eat. If I come to drag you away, you’ll be far enough in that you can’t leave the tests running unsupervised.”

Tim tries not to pout. “When did you manage to learn all my tricks?”

“When I got tired of hauling your ass to do everything unrelated to vigilantes.”

Tim huffs a laugh. He sets off in the direction of the elevator, waving a hand to motion for Kon to join him. “C’mon then.”

Kon is by his side moments later. Tim knows that he’s lying to himself when he says that he’s not leaning into Kon’s warmth. Well, into Kon in general. As much as he tries to deny it, rationalize it as a coping system developed after years of being teammates and saving each other’s lives, when Tim needs something steady and comforting, he seeks out Kon like a moth to a light.

Kon never complains, so Tim never brings it up.

Once they’re in the elevator, Tim slumps against the back wall, allowing it to hold most of his weight. His head tips back as he looks at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

“You okay?” Kon asks.

“Just bothered by this case. Frustrated I haven’t solved it yet.”

He hears Kon hum, feels the vibration of it on his back. He knows Kon is purposefully not saying anything, leaving the option to either talk about it or leave it to hang to Tim. Kon usually doesn’t push, and Tim appreciates it in a way he can’t explain.

Dick never gives him a moment to breathe when he actually shows that he’s concerned. Damian is still stuck of the ‘pretender’ train. He and Jason just kind of mutually avoid each other, even if they’re working on getting along better. Bruce pushes in his own silent, judging kind of way, and even Alfred will stare him down or leave him sitting in uncomfortable silence until he talks.

Kon has always left that option to him. Tonight, he surprises himself by taking it.

“It’s just…” Tim bites the inside of his cheek, searching for the right words. His eyes flutter open and he stares at the blank steel ceiling. “This case reminds me of Gotham. It’s something that I should see there, not here in San Francisco. And the murders themselves… the puncture marks on the necks? The draining of blood? Despite all the shit that’s actually real, vampires aren’t.”

Tim huffs something that’s between a laugh and a snort, shaking his head. The elevator dings as they arrive on the floor holding his different labs and tech setups. He and Kon step out of the elevator, making their way down the hall to Tim’s lab. It’s his basic lab—the fun one where all the dangerous stuff goes down is on one of the sublevels, and Tim is still dodgy about giving the team the entry codes. He knows Kon knows that’s where he stores a small stash of kryptonite.

“Bruce checked,” Tim continues. “But that means we’ve either got some other kind of meta or creature, or we have one messed up human who found a way to mimic a vampire. Targeting young, pretty students, and then displaying their bodies like that? It just rubs me the wrong way. At least in Gotham, when someone kills someone else, they just kill them. There’s none of this other bullshit.”

Kon is silent for a moment before he speaks up. “I think I get what you’re saying. Part of the reason you’re with the Titans so much anymore is because you want to get away from Gotham’s creepy criminal networks.”

“Yeah, a bit,” Tim admits. “B hasn’t figured that out yet, so kudos to you or something. He thinks that you guys just need some more tech support here. If anything, he’d probably think Wayne Enterprises is bugging me instead of our nightlives.”

“Does Wayne Enterprises bug you?”

Tim shrugs. “I mean, sometimes. Not really, though. I started business stuff when I was a kid with Drake Industries. WE is fairly straightforward when you take away the corporate espionage and all.”

“And you get to mess around in R&D.”

“And I get to mess around in R&D.”

They arrive at Tim’s lab, punching in the code and heading inside. The floor-to-ceiling windows show the lights of the city in the distance, bordered with the rolling waves of the bay. Tim flicks on the lights, illuminating all of his equipment. Tables, computers, microscopes, other lab equipment that only Tim really understands are organized throughout the room. Bart can be a techno-nerd when he wants to, but he tends to push away that side of him, so Tim is the only one who ever uses the lab.

Tim drops his utility belt on one of the tables holding a microscope and other equipment he has specifically to run sample analyses. He pulls out all of the different samples he gathered, taking the two samples of the unknown goo, setting aside two slides to study under the microscope, then putting the rest in the system to be analyzed.

He reaches for the blood sample from the latest victim when Kon clears his throat. Tim glances at the other boy over his shoulder, frowning when he sees Kon waiting, leaning against the far wall.

“C’mon,” Kon says. “We made a deal.”

Tim grumbles, but sets aside the blood sample and makes sure the systems are all running properly before he makes his way over to Kon.

Kon just smiles. “There we go.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me and you know it.”

Tim grumbles again and jabs Kon’s ribs with his elbow. Kon always complains how pointy they are, so he’ll feel the dig in his ribs, invulnerable skin be damned. Kon just laughs and drags him back to the elevator and up to the kitchen.

The residential floors make up the top several floors of the Tower, with the communal kitchen and living areas on the second-highest floor. The first holds a second locker room and several defenses to keep uninvited people out of the Tower. The bedrooms are scattered on the floor below, but a lot of time is spent together in the different media rooms.

Kon practically drops Tim in his typical seat at the kitchen island before he starts bustling around the kitchen, pulling out a pan and several ingredients from the refrigerator.

“You don’t have to cook,” Tim says. “It’s late and it’s my turn to make dinner next anyway.”

Kon rolls his eyes. “I know you’re riding more than thirty-six hours of sleep deprivation. As soon as your done with your preliminary analyses, you’re going to bed.”

“I can go a lot longer than that.”

Kon points the bottle of olive oil at him with a glare. “That doesn’t mean that you should.” He turns back to the stove to keep working. “God, Tim, you don’t have to constantly push yourself to the limit, you know? You worry us sometimes.”

Tim sets his arms on the island and allows himself to drop. “’M sorry.”

He hears Kon sigh as he dumps potatoes and some of the leftover ground beef into the pan. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. We just worry that you work so hard and that one day you’re just gonna drop. There’s nothing wrong with taking some time to breathe.”

“I know,” Tim says, though he knows the words are mostly hollow. “It’s just… it’s just this stupid case right now. It’s bothering me more than it should. I need to get this guy.”

“I know, Tim.” Kon’s voice sounds as tired as Tim feels. “But you don’t function at your best when you’re sleep-deprived and starving.”

Tim feels the arguments, defenses on the tip of his tongue. He bites them down and sinks further into the counter. “I’ll work on it. Promise. And when this case is over… I’ll try and be better about it, okay?”

Kon sounds relieved as he says, “Okay.”

They go quiet as Kon cooks, the only sound the sizzle of the meat and potatoes, then the vegetables Kon adds in. Tim’s eyes drift shut as he leans against the counter, and he barely hears it when someone enters the room. He looks up from under his eyelashes, finding Cassie leaning against the wall in joggers and a jacket.

“You actually going to eat this time?” she asks, voice somewhere between teasing and serious.

Tim’s eyes shut as he hums. “Mama Kon is making me eat while the samples I got from outside the lab and at the courtyard are being analyzed.”

“Good man,” Cassie says, satisfied.

Tim groans as Kon laughs. “Someone’s gotta do it,” Kon says.

“And you’re pretty much the only one who can?”

“For somethings.”

He and Cassie laugh together this time, and Tim sits up to glare at them.

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

Cassie and Kon share a look. “We know, but you tend to let yourself slip when you get busy.”

“Which is pretty much all the time.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Ye of little faith,” he mutters, watching Kon pull down a plate from the cabinet and pour the contents of the pan onto it before setting it in front of Tim.

Kon shrugs. “Sleep more and I’ll let up on the mother-henning.”

Tim stabs his food with a fork. “Yeah, yeah.”

Kon starts cleaning up, chatting with Cassie and Tim. They don’t talk about the case—the ‘no murder talk in the kitchen’ rule stands no matter what—but instead about the university Cassie’s applying to, and Kon’s debate over taking an internship with Clark over winter break. Tim rolls his eyes when they ask him about school and reminds them that he dropped out of high school then became CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

“How did you even pull that off?” Cassie asks, not for the first time.

Tim shrugs. “It surprises me sometimes too. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And the board backed off when they saw I was actually competent with the business aspect of everything, unlike ‘Brucie Wayne.’ They let it go when I got my GED and started my bachelor’s program online.”

“I hate Brucie,” Kon says.

“Everyone hates Brucie.”

Cassie shakes her head. “Of all things, why does Bruce act like such an idiot? He could get away with less annoying personas to get the media off his back.”

Tim shrugs. “Honestly, I think he enjoys making everyone else suffer.”

“Makes sense,” Kon says.

“It actually does,” Cassie says, miffed.

Tim smiles and hops up, dropping his dishes in the dishwasher and nudging it shut with his hip.

“Well, I’m off to the lab. I’m going to run all the samples and set up a comparison of the victim’s profiles.” At Kon’s glare, he sighs and adds, “I’ll go to bed and compare them all tomorrow.”

Cassie snorts, disguising her “Supermom” as a cough under her breath.

Kon, with his super hearing, glares. “Get some sleep, Tim.”

Tim waves a hand, already halfway into the elevator. “You got it.”

The steel doors slide shut, leaving Cassie and Kon standing alone at the island. Kon finally lets the tension bleed from his shoulders, dropping his head into his hands and squeezing his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

“You okay?” Cassie asks, setting a gentle hand on Kon’s shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“C’mon, Kon. I can tell when you’re upset. We’ve known each other for a long time. You can talk to me about this stuff.”

Kon doesn’t say anything, and Cassie rubs her hand in soothing circles over his back. It’s something that’s always comforted him, grounded him when he feels like drifting off, even if not many people know about it. Only Cassie, Tim, and Ma Kent have ever tried. Cassie hasn’t done it since their break up during his first year back from the dead.

(The year Tim was running around the world on a hunt for evidence that Batman was actually alive—when Tim came back almost a different person than the one he knew, one with a whole lot more triggers than before and apparently a missing spleen.)

Her voice is soft when she asks, “It’s the case, isn’t it?”

Kon gives in, all of his weight supported by his elbows on the countertop, shoulders pulling as they cave inward. “Yeah.”

Cassie is quiet for a moment, her hand freezing mid-circle on his back. “You noticed too?”

“That Tim fits the exact description of the victims?” He chokes on a half-hysterical laugh. He thinks it might actually be sob. “When I was flying my route tonight and I saw the body, I thought it was Tim, Cassie. I couldn’t see his face, and I thought that Tim had been caught out of the suit for some crazy reason. I’d heard him on the comms seconds before, but I saw the body and just froze.”

Cassie signs, continuing the circles on his back. “It’ll be okay, Kon. I know you’ve noticed the small fact that Tim’s an actual badass.”

Kon laughs, still sounding choked, but not quite as desperate. “Yeah, he is. He’s a trouble magnet too, though.”

“No denying that,” Cassie says. “But he’s working on it. After the whole Doctor Oz thing, he’s trying to be better about letting others be there for him.”

“Yeah,” Kon says breathlessly, “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating.”

“I know, Kon. But you know Tim. If we push him too hard, he’s just going to pull away again. I mean, look at his relationships with the Bats.”

Kon scoffs. “That’s because they spent years not giving a shit about paying attention to him, then there’s the Demon’s Head and Doctor Oz and suddenly they’re all over him.”

“Well, we’re not the Bats. We know how to actually talk about things.”

“Now we do.”

Cassie pushes her hand into his shoulder, just hard enough for him to know it’s a shove. “Because we learned the hard way. Now c’mon, Kon. Take your own advice and get some sleep.”

“I’m going to make sure—”

“I got it,” Cassie interrupts. “I’ll take Tim watch tonight and make sure that he gets to bed. Bart’s already crashed. You need to get some sleep, especially with what happened tonight.”

Kon pushes himself up off the counter. “Yeah. Thanks, Cassie. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Cassie smiles softly. “Now off you go. I can handle one tiny bird, no matter how badass he is.”

Kon laughs, shaking his head as he says, “Night, Cassie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Kon.”

Kon waves at her over his shoulder, disappearing down the stairs. He pops out on the floor that holds all their bedrooms. He can hear Bart’s steady heartbeat, his even breathing when he focuses. Cassie is still upstairs, Tim in his lab. They’re safe in the Tower.

Kon pushes into his bedroom, kicking his door shut behind him and falling back onto his bed. His head drops onto his pillow, and Kon stares at the ceiling. He can see the holes burned into the ceiling when his eyes opened during a nightmare. He gave up trying to patch up the ceiling every time he had a nightmare. He only does it now when he thinks he may burn completely through the plaster. He thinks Tim has done something on the floor above his ceiling to make it a non-issue, but he can’t be sure.

Kon closes his eyes, doesn’t bother crawling under his covers because he has a feeling that he’d just wake up tangled in his sheets instead. Sometimes he’s thankful that the Tower is soundproofed, but right now, he needs something to help distract him until he falls asleep. His ears are ringing and the otherwise silent room allows his mind to race and think about things that are definitely not in the realm of things he wants to think about.

So Kon reverts to an old habit. He finds Tim’s heartbeat several floors below and latches on for dear life.

He’s lulled to sleep moments later.

It’s one of those nights where it feels like minutes after he falls asleep, he wakes up again. There’s nothing in between those hours between asleep and awake. No dreams or flashes of terror like he’s expecting, no spurts of waking up and twisting and turning until he manages to fall back asleep.

Kon still feels absolutely exhausted.

He pulls himself out of bed, quickly throws on a change of clothes and brushes his teeth, and heads upstairs. He runs his fingers through his hair in a small attempt to tame the bedhead. For the most part, his hair is short enough that it’s not a problem. Tim, however, has bedhead from the God’s now that he’s let it grow out some. Not that Kon will ever say that out loud.

He takes the stairs two at a time, finding his way to the kitchen only moments after he’s woken up. Thanks to living on the farm for so long, Kon usually rises with the sun and wakes up quickly. Morning chores go much faster when he’s awake and not ready to fall on his face.

Kon is something more than surprised when he enters the kitchen and finds Tim and Bart sitting at the island.

Tim is drowning himself in a mug of coffee, and Bart is half asleep as he makes his way through a stack of chocolate chips waffles, which somewhat curbs his surprise. He glances at the clock, and yeah, the fact that anyone other than him is awake before eight-thirty in the morning is weird.

“Please tell me you went to sleep last night,” Kon says, appearing at Tim’s shoulder.

Tim merely hums. “Cassie put me to bed as soon as the blood sample was analyzed.”

“Good.”

He sees leftover batter sitting covered on the counter, and he scoops a healthy amount into the waffle maker. He leans against the counter, waiting for the three minutes to be up. Tim’s already pulled down a plate and silverware for him, and there’s a cup waiting to be filled with milk sitting next to it.

Kon muffles a laugh when Tim has to nudge Bart awake before he really does face plant into his waffles. Bart himself shoots up with wide eyes, toppling out of his chair because he sometimes still has trouble controlling his speed when he’s tired. Tim has a wry grin hidden partially behind his massive coffee mug.

Bart mutters to himself and stumbles away, saying something about putting on real clothes.

When his waffle’s ready, Kon pulls it out of the maker and onto the plate, spreading butter and pouring a healthy amount of syrup, a habit leftover from his years eating breakfast under Ma Kent’s watchful eye. Kon pours his milk and plops into the seat next to Tim, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

Tim, damn his stupid bat training, notices, of course.

“I got almost six hours,” he says.

Kon spears a bite of his waffle. He was actually taking in Tim’s bed head. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Sure.”

“Cassie said she’d strong-arm you into bed,” Kon shrugs. “I don’t doubt her power.”

“Didn’t she say last night that you were the only one able to get me to do stuff?”

“Convince you to do stuff,” Kon corrects. “Cassie would just pick you up and carry you to bed herself.”

Tim snorts into his coffee. “Fair enough.”

Kon can tell Tim is awake enough to want to dive back into his case, but he bites his tongue because of the No Murder Talk in the Kitchen rule. Instead, he finishes his waffle, slides his second onto Kon’s plate without a word, and gets started on the dishes.

“You better have left something for me,” Cassie says as she shows up in the kitchen. Unlike the others, Cassie is actually put together in her typical civvies with her hair neatly brushed and parted.

“There’s enough batter for three more waffles, there’s coffee still in the pot, and your plate is set in the corner,” Tim says, rinsing the measuring cups.

“You are a wonderful human being.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Tim says, barely deadpan like he was aiming for. Once he’s finished cleaning up as much as he can, he fills a travel mug with coffee. “I’m going to change and head back to my lab. When you guys are ready, we can go over everything I found.”

“Sounds good,” Cassie says, beginning to inhale her own mug of coffee.

“Want us to meet you in your lab or the war room?” Kon asks.

“My lab’s fine,” Tim says. “I want to show you guys some of what I found in the samples, and it’ll be easier to do there.”

“What’s happened to Tim?” Cassie mock whispers. “He’s letting all three of us into his lab. We’re doomed.”

Kon grins, whispering back, “He’s luring us into a false sense of security. His really sneaky things are in that underground lab.”

“Har, har.” Tim rolls his eyes. “You’ve caught me. I’m actually an evil scientist running a case study on slightly domesticated teenage metas. You’ve cracked the code.”

“Aha!” Cassie cheers. “We’ve done it!”

Tim doesn’t dignify her with a response. He ignores her and Kon and their laughter, sliding into the elevator and making his way down to his lab. It’s still a little disorganized from his work last night, but it’s still easy to navigate.

He pulls up the results from each of the analyses on the screens mounted on the back wall, then the victim profiles on the computer screens at his main desk. He didn’t go over them last night like he promised, but now he dives right back into the detective mindset.

He combs through every inch of data, looking for anything he may have missed.

The victims all fit the same basic profile. They are all moved from the murder scene and laid out in a way that displays two puncture marks on their necks. There is a weak sedative in all of their systems, as well as traces of MDMA—ecstasy. They all have the same physical features, though both genders have been targeted.

Tim starts looking at their personal lives, pulling up their social media accounts and school records.

All three are college students, but attend different schools around the city and are in different programs. Their social lives are wildly different. The first victim is a nursing student, rather studious but extroverted enough to be an active member of a sorority. The second victim is a double major in international relations and world history, and she seems rather introverted if her follower count and lack of posts mean anything. It could also indicate low self-esteem or a lack of interest in online media. The third victim is an art student with a focus in graphic art and is somewhere in between the social levels of the first two.

Tim’s in the middle of hacking their medical records when he hears a knock on the lab door.

“Come in,” he calls. “Kon, you know the code.”

The security system beeps seconds later, and his three teammates are spilling into the room. They come up until they’re standing behind him, though leaving a healthy amount of space so he can turn around and get out of his chair if he needs to.

“What have you found?” Cassie asks.

“Not a lot,” Tim admits, annoyed at both himself and the information available. He lists all the things he’s found about the victims, both their lives and murders. “What I want to know is how they were drugged,” he says. “The only marks on all three bodies were the puncture marks in their necks, so the drugs wouldn’t act fast enough to even take effect before they died.”

“Could it have been slipped into their drinks earlier?” Bart asks.

“Maybe. But from what we’ve found, they’re targeted at random. Our guy is an opportunity killer. He has a type, but it doesn’t seem like he chooses them in advance.”

Bart frowns, brows pulling together in frustration. Cassie is wearing a similar expression.

“What about the samples?” Kon asks.

Tim enhances the results on the back wall, showing both the chemical results and the pictures of each under the microscope.

“The blood sample of the victim is similar to the other two. I found traces of a sedative and ecstasy, but like I said earlier, I don’t know how those would get into their bodies or have any effect. The sedative might have been fast working enough, but the ecstasy would take a lot longer to kick in. The hair and skin samples were clean. No recreational drug use or anything else odd.”

“And the goo you found?”

Tim frowns. “That’s where this gets weirder.” He swipes away the other information on the wall, making the information on the goo even bigger. “It’s man-made, definitely not organic, and my guess is that it was developed at the lab I found it outside of. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It looks like it alters the nervous and circulatory, but I’m not sure how. And the consistency is weird.”

“How so?”

“It’s always semi-congealed and gritty. From its chemical makeup, I’d expect that it’d have a liquid form. This would be considered more of a solid because I can actually pick it up if I need to.”

“Weird,” Bart mutters.

“Weird,” Cassie agrees. “Keep looking into it. Any luck getting into those medical records?”

“I had just started when you guys showed up. Give me a few minutes.”

Cassie nods, and Tim spins back around to face his monitors. He returns to the page he was on, and the others watch as his fingers fly across the keyboard at a speed that seems like it could rival Bart. In six minutes, Tim has all three of the victim’s medical records displayed on the wall, from childhood to their autopsies.

“The third victim hasn’t had an autopsy yet. Not sure when they’ll get around to it. The other two match what I found from my own samples. Bruising around wrists, ribs, and necks. Two puncture marks on their necks, drained of about seventy percent of their blood volume. Normal medical records for all three of them, and there’s nothing specific that ties all three of them together.”

“So our killer only has a type, but only in relation to age and physical appearance,” Cassie says. At Tim’s nod, she swears colorfully under her breath. “There are so many people who match that description. There’s no way to track him and I’m not willing to wait around for another kid to get killed!”

“Cassie,” Kon tries to soothe, “We know. None of us want that. So what can we do to prevent another killing?”

“We can’t keep track of everyone that matches his type,” Bart says flatly, “We could always set up the perfect opportunity and see if he goes for it. I mean, it looks like he’s going for the whole stereotypical vampire thing. Give him a cliché and he’ll pounce.”

“We’d have to risk an innocent civilian,” Kon argues. “No one should take that risk. This guy’s new, but he’s smart. There’s a reason no one can get anything on him. We don’t even know if he’s a meta or something like an experiment.”

“Kon’s right,” Cassie says, “but Bart does have a point. Sometimes there are risks we just have to take.”

She pulls at her lower lip with her teeth, a habit Tim recognizes as something she reverts to when she’s feeling conflicted. Her eyes flicker in his direction, and if possible, her body tenses even further. He’s not the only one who notices.

“What are you thinking, Cassie? We can’t weigh in if we don’t know,” Kon says, because of course Kon knows most, if not all, of the girl’s ticks.

Tim sees the exact moment Cassie becomes Wonder Girl, slipping into what Bart affectionally (and sometimes fearfully) calls her ‘Boss Lady’ mode. He sits up at his desk. When Cassie goes into that mindset when they’re not prepping to go on the field, it usually means something serious.

“Tim matches the killer’s profile to a T. We could always use him as a plant.”

Instantly, Kon and Bart erupt with objections.

“Cassie! We don’t go undercover without a solid idea of what to expect! We have no idea what he’d be walking into!”

“Tim’s a badass, but this guy is good! Probably enhanced in some way, and he’d be in civvies!”

“It’s too risky without more information!”

“And we’d be hard-pressed to follow him! This guy probably has enhanced senses too!”

Everyone startles when a high-pitched ringing cuts through the room. Superboy hisses and covers his ears, and even Cassie and Bart wince.

When they’ve all fallen silent, Tim glares at them, flicking a switch to turn off the noise recording. “Enough,” he says flatly. “Right now, we need to explore every option we’ve got. Cassie, what are you thinking?”

“Tim, you can’t seriously be—”

“Kon,” Tim snaps, eyes narrowed at his best friend. “We’ve got a serial killer who’s probably enhanced in one or more ways and no leads. We go through every option, and if it’s too risky, we shelve the idea.”

Kon presses his lips together, but his glare conveys exactly how upset he really is. Bart is practically vibrating in frustration, arms crossed over his chest as his fingers twist in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Cassie looks just as unhappy as the other two, but she straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin anyway.

“We set you up with a fake ID, and you can attend classes for a few days. We’ll pick an area the killer might frequent; dress you up enough to show off the fact that you’re his type. Kon can track your heartbeat from a few streets away, and Bart and I will cover the rest of the city and stay centered around the different colleges.”

Tim nods, brows furrowed in contemplation. “It’s a decent plan,” he admits. “But the killer’s so random. He might be on the opposite side of the city. He’s an opportunity killer—making me a target by getting his attention wouldn’t work, and he has no discernable pattern.”

“Yeah!” Bart agrees, nodding his head enthusiastically. “The plan probs won’t even work with someone like that!”

“But right now, it’s all we’ve got,” Cassie says. “Tell me that Tim isn’t a perfect match for what this guy’s looking for.”

Kon grits his teeth. “That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“Don’t act like I want to use Tim as bait for a serial killer because he’s pretty,” Cassie hisses. “But the fact is that he matches the profile. Put him in a cute, oversized sweatshirt and no one will notice how much muscle he’s packing. All they’ll see is the small, lean pretty boy.”

“I hate to admit it,” Tim sighs, “but she has a point. We all know I’m the best at going undercover anyway. I’ll see if I can find a pattern to the killer’s movement. Even if I don’t, we can make an educated guess. Besides, if he’s enhanced then it’s likely he’ll roam the city until he finds what he’s looking for. If there’s no luck, we shelve the idea like Cassie said.”

“I still don’t like it,” Kon says through gritted teeth.

“No one likes it,” Tim counters. “Doesn’t mean that it’s not worth a shot.”

“But the guy only kills every other week or so. So not only do we not know where he’ll be, we don’t even know when he’ll start looking again,” Bart says.

Cassie shrugs. “It gives Tim time to set up the persona.”

“When the guys not actually hunting, he might be scouting the colleges anyway. He seems like an opportunity killer, but maybe he’s just good at hiding his tracks. We don’t really know.” Tim spins around to face his computer monitors, pulling up a map of San Francisco and displaying it on the wall. There are X’s marking where each body was found and a star for each university they attended. “Maybe we have it wrong. Like I said, we don’t have enough information.”

“If we don’t have enough information to know how he operates, we don’t have enough information to send you out as bait,” Kon says.

Tim bites the inside of his cheek. “You’re right Kon, but right now it’s all we’ve got. It’s worth a shot, and if you’re tracking my heartbeat, you’ll know if something happens, especially if I’m drugged.”

“Being drugged means he’s gotten close enough to _bite_ you,” Kon snarls. “In case you forgot, that’s how he _kills_ people!”

“I know that!” Tim hisses back. “But I can defend myself more than any normal college student can!”

Kon’s hands clench into tight fists, his lips pursed as he holds back from saying something he’ll most definitely regret. Eventually he says, “Fine. But we do more research and set up a dozen contingencies before we send you out.”

Tim nods. “Of course. Cassie? Bart?”

“It was my idea,” Cassie says. “I’m on board.”

Bart glowers. “I don’t like it, but if you think you’ll be safe… I can get behind it.”

Tim nods. “Then we’ll set me up with an ID. I’ll go over everything again and see if I can find a pattern or see if the killer’s tracking the victim’s or is really just going off of opportunity. Until then, we keep going as we normally do.”

They all nod in affirmation, but no one pretends they’re happy about the idea.

Bart goes for a run on the modified treadmill to distract himself. Cassie locks herself in her room. Kon heads to the gym and wraps his knuckles so the skin doesn’t tear when he hits the Kryptonian-specific punching bag. Tim does what he always does and dives into the case.

A week and a half later, they have the plan.

A week after that, and they put everything into motion.

Tim is walking from the San Francisco State University, College of Science and Engineering to Parking Lot 25. It’s the Friday before fall break begins, and almost everyone else has already gone home for the holiday. Tim’s classmates, however, believe that his parents have both died (which, true) and he’s using the life insurance money they left him to pay for school and a small apartment just off campus (which, close—the money set aside in his college trust has been donated to the Winter’s Memorial Scholarship to send students to grad school because scholarships are a bitch to find after freshman year).

There are also rumors he has a little sister, which is why he always parks in Lot 25, right across the street from the daycare center. Tim has been careful to never confirm or deny, but he volunteers at the center every day he doesn’t have a night class and is a wonderful help whenever Professor Benson brings her baby to class.

He’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt and skinny jeans that hang low on his hips, bracelets for different clubs and charities wrapped around his wrist. His hair is brushed is such a way that it is constantly falling into his eyes, and Tim fights the urge to tie it back. His backpack his heavy with textbooks and thuds against his back with every step he takes.

He is the perfect picture of a young, delicate college student who has faced tragedy throughout his life and still works every day to make someone smile.

Oh, what a tragedy it would be should he die an early death before he ever even has the chance to reach his potential.

Tim has just made it past Maloney Field when he hears the light thud of footsteps behind him. He pretends to not notice until the steps become closer and he can see a shadow flickering in the dim glow of the streetlights. Tim hurries his pace, curling his fingers into the straps of his backpack.

Tim can feel his pulse beating beneath his skin, thrumming hard enough that he can feel it in his fingertips. That should be enough of a change for Superboy to make his way to his location. Tim’s reaching for his bo staff, hidden under his bag in a makeshift holster at the small of his back, when the shadow disappears.

Tim doesn’t have any time to react before he feels strong arms wrapping around his ribs and squeezing hard enough to bruise.

The air whooshes from Tim’s lungs as he’s yanked backward. He can’t feel anything through his backpack, but the person is definitely smaller than he thought. Still, Tim can’t draw a breath, can’t wrap his fingers around his staff before he’s being spun around, his backpack yanked from his shoulders as the world flashes around him.

His back slams into something solid, and pain lances up his spine and through his shoulders. He snarls, trying to break the tight hold on his wrists and kick out to push the killer away from him. Tim hears his head crack against what he now recognizes at the sports supply building before he feels it. Dazed, Tim pauses long enough for the killer to drag his arms above his head, pinning his wrists to the wall so hard he fears they’re going to break. He feels icy breath against his neck as the killer laughs softly, nuzzling their nose against his skin.

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you, hmm?”

The voice is distinctly female, and Tim slowly blinks his eyes open, attempting to clear the fuzziness from his line of sight. The killer is, in fact, a woman, her head tucked into the junction between his shoulder and neck, hair falling across her back and over her shoulders, her breasts pushing against his chest as she tries to minimize the space between their bodies.

“Never had a fighter before. The other boy tried to run, mhm, he did, but he didn’t get very far.” Her breath is cold enough to give him goosebumps, her knee working its way between his legs as she presses even closer into him. “You’re fun, aren’t you, pretty boy?”

Tim twists his hips in an attempt to dislodge her knee and buck her off of him. She merely laughs and squeezes his wrists until her nails pierce his skin, and he hears something snap. He muffles a yelp of pain by biting down on his lip.

“None of that,” the woman says, finally pulling away from him. Her grip remains tight on his wrists, the knee lodged between his legs.

Tim can see her face and his stomach rolls. She looks young, probably only a few years older than him, maybe even a college student herself. She’s pretty, but in a striking kind of way, the opposite kind of pretty than all of her victims—tan skin, brown hair, hazel eyes that almost gleam in the night.

Tim presses further back into the wall behind him as the woman laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She slides up his body, keeping them pressed together as she does. Her nose bumps against his, and Tim tries to turn his face away when he realizes exactly what she’s planning on doing.

“Nuh-uh,” she tuts mockingly. “I said none of that.”

She shifts so that one of her hand keeps his wrists pinned as the other grips his chin. Her nails are sharp as she forces him to look at her. She grins maniacally, brushing her nose and lips across his face until there are mere centimeters keeping them apart. Tim can do nothing but press his lips together in a tight line and attempt to kick at her shins as she presses her mouth against his.

Her lips are cold, harsh against his own. Her entire body is cold, nothing like the warmth any human should have. When Tim tries to turn away, she simply digs her nails deeper into his cheeks until Tim feels blood rolling past her fingertips. He presses his lips tighter together, but when she drags her nails down to the soft, delicate skin under his chin and cuts, he gasps in a mix of panic and pain.

She takes the chance to swipe her tongue into his mouth before he can move away. Her tongue licks at his own, explores his mouth like no one has before. (He and Stephanie never did anything other than brief, chaste kisses on rooftops. This is entirely new and nothing like he wanted his first make out to go.)

She pulls back moments later, giggling as she laps at the tracks of blood slipping down his cheeks and curling down his chin. The woman doesn’t stop laughing, digging her nose into his skin and inhaling.

“Even smell pretty,” she murmurs.

She’s definitely enhanced one way or another, and the panic really begins to set in because Kon should be here by now. His heartbeat has been going crazy since she grabbed him, has been heightened before she even makes her move out of the shadows.

Tim goes absolutely still when he feels her lips move against the skin of his throat, mouthing at his pulse.

“Such a shame,” she says. “We could have fun, me and you. You’re interesting, I can see it. Stronger than you seem too.” Her giggle sounds hysterical. “Alas, I don’t think you’d like that.”

Her tongue darts out, licking a long stripe from his collarbone to his thudding pulse, her body grinding against his as she moves. The cold air feels as though it’s burning through his skin, but the woman only licks again, teeth scraping along his skin as she does.

“Relax, pretty boy,” she whispers into his shoulder. “It won’t be that bad. It’ll be worse if you’re all tense.”

She giggles into his shoulder, playfully nibbling at his collarbone, swiping her tongue along the small bites. Tim feels himself beginning to sag into her hold, and his stomach churns in horror. She got the sedatives in his system. Probably the ecstasy too, based on the floaty feeling that has nothing to do with his pounding head. Fast-acting ecstasy, to boot.

Tim has no idea how she’s done it. The only thing he can think of is the kiss, but everything is growing hazy around him, and his thoughts are deserting him quicker than Kid Flash on a snack run.

“There you go,” the woman says, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Relax. Good boy.”

Tim’s legs crumble beneath him, leaving him completely supported by her weight and the knee between his legs. She laughs and finally lets his wrists drop from above his head. His shoulders ache from being held in such an uncomfortable position, but Tim barely notices as the woman hums and licks and kisses.

“Good boy,” she repeats, pressing a soft kiss to his pulse point before opening her lips and sucking. Distantly, Tim knows there will be a hickey there. “This might even feel good. Promise I’ll be gentle.”

Tim’s eyes are drifting shut, but he’s aware enough to feel her lips against his throat, tongue swiping out one last time before something sharp presses down. Absolute pain explodes through his nerves, shooting all the way from his neck down to his toes. His ears are ringing, vision swimming. Slowly, the pain begins to fade and everything seems all floaty again.

The floaty feeling fades slightly as the things in his neck pull back. He feels puffs of air against his skin, little licks lapping at the blood dripping from the puncture marks.

“Such a good little pretty boy for me, aren’t you? Yes, _such_ a good boy. Maybe I should keep you after all. Why don’t you show me those pretty eyes so I can see what you think about that, hmm?”

Tim blinks blearily, eyes half-lidded and drooping. The woman rolls her hips up so they brush against his.

“Such pretty eyes for such a pretty boy,” she says.

Tim watches as she presses her lips back to his, tasting of copper and iron and finally even slightly warm. He feels detached when she pushes her way back into his mouth, blinking as he tries to think. She pulls back moments later, and distantly, Tim thinks he whines when the only semblance of warmth leaves him. Based on the woman’s laugh, he probably does.

She fits her mouth back around his bleeding throat, lapping the flowing blood before she presses yet another, sucking kiss to his pulse before digging her way back in. The pain returns, duller than before, and fades much quicker, replaced with something between tingling and pins and needles. He’s starting to feel warm, which is wrong, because everything used to be so cold.

Tim’s eyes drift shut, and the last thing he sees is something barreling through the air and landing behind them with a boom, dust and grass rising around them as they stomp towards him. Somewhere, past the floaty, tingling, nothingness, he thinks _Kon_.

The woman pulls back in surprise, Tim crumpling to the ground without her pinning him to the wall to keep him upright. She glowers upon seeing Superboy, who she recognizes from the many pictures she’s seen over the years, as if the red shield on his chest wasn’t enough.

“Here to interrupt my fun?” she pouts, setting her hands on her hips and tutting in disapproval. “Why, that’s not very nice—”

Her words are cut off when Superboy flashes forward, hand wrapping around her throat and pinning her to the wall a few feet away from where Tim lays unconscious and bleeding. Kon can feel his eyes burning, the world tinging red as he slams the woman back against the brick wall where she was holding Tim, pinning Tim, _touching_ Tim. He slams her against the wall even harder, not feeling anything other than absolute rage, even when her head cracks against the brick.

_She was killing Tim._

Superboy pulls back when he sees that the woman has fallen limp in his grasp. He lets her drop to the ground, instantly whirling towards Tim. He kneels down, eyes wide when he sees the blood drenching Tim’s neck and throat, seeping into the fabric of his sweatshirt.

“Fuck,” he whispers. _“Fuck.”_ He speaks into the comm in his ear, ripping the bottom of Tim’s sweatshirt to hold against his carotid as a makeshift bandage. “I’ve got Red—he’s bleeding heavily and is unconscious. The killer is down at Maloney’s Field. Not sure how long she’ll stay that way.”

He carefully lifts Tim into his arms, using his TTK to keep the bandage pressed against the puncture marks. He bends his knees to get a better starting momentum and shoots into the air. He flies as fast as Tim’s body can handle without being overwhelmed.

“I’m taking Red to the Tower to get him treated. KF, get there and get the roof access open and the med bay ready. He’s going to need surgery to stitch the artery if it’s anything more than nicked. I can’t be sure with all the blood. And make sure there are extra antibiotics on hand.”

Kid Flash’s shaky voice crackles in his ear. _“Received. I’m en route. I’ll be waiting, and I’ll have the robotic equipment on standby if it’s needed.”_

Wonder Girl is speaking as soon as Kid Flash stops. _“I’ll be at the field in two minutes to apprehend her. I have a suppression collar with me, and I’ll fly her straight to Belle Reve.”_

“Received,” Superboy says. “ETA: four minutes. KF, you ready for me?”

_“I will be.”_

Superboy doesn’t reply, just holds Tim tighter to his chest. He’s paler than normal, his skin looking almost white in the dim light of the city below them. His pulse is slowing, weakening with every beat of his heart. Superboy is terrified by Tim’s deadweight (has he always been so light?) and how cold he is. The blood has soaked through the upper sleeve and neckline of the sweatshirt, seeping into Superboy’s t-shirt as well.

Tim’s blood is currently the only thing warm about him.

The thought makes Superboy add another boost of speed, even if he’s pushing the limits of Tim’s weakening body. He’s not sure he cares. Tim might die either way. The mere idea of it is terrifying. Tim dying is not an option.

San Francisco blurs beneath him, and the Tower comes into sight seconds later. Superboy doesn’t bother touching down on the roof, flying straight through the doors opened by KF and straight into the med bay.

Bart is already waiting, mask off as he waits with antiseptic wipes, gauze, medical tape, and any other medical supplies they’re probably going to need. Kon gently lays Tim on the hospital bed, and Bart moves immediately, wiping down the blood away from the puncture marks to at least keep the wound some semblance of disinfected.

A machine mounted above the bed beeps, and Kon and Bart take an automatic step back as it scans Tim, singling on to the injury on his throat and displaying it on screen with a set of instructions.

The air vanishes from Kon’s lungs before he nearly slumps to the ground in relief. Bart exhales a shaky breath and gets to work. Kon can only watch as Bart cleans up the blood, tapes a bandage directly over the puncture marks, wraps gauze around Tim’s entire neck to cover the bandage and hold it in place, securely taping it down. Kon can hear his heart beating in his ears as he stares at the screen displaying the information related to Tim’s injury.

A very small, nearly microscopic nick to the edge of the carotid artery, already being slowed by natural clotting. Disinfect, apply pressure if still bleeding, cover with the bandage, and secure with gauze and tape.

Tim’s going to be okay.

The killer misses directly puncturing his carotid like she does with the other three. Tim’s natural defenses have already stopped the majority of the bleeding.

Tim’s going to be okay.

Kon startles when Bart kneels down in front of him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Kon blinks so that he can actually focus on Bart’s face, seeing for the first time just how exhausted Bart is as well. Without thinking, he pulls the other boy in for a hug. Bart—the most physically affectionate of their team—takes it without complaint.

“He’s going to be fine,” Bart says. “The biggest worry is infection, and as long as we monitor it and keep up on antibiotics, he’ll be okay. It’s been long enough that his body’s adjusted to living without the spleen. He’s going to be okay.”

Kon nods, pulling Bart tighter to his chest and not saying anything at all. They stay like that for several minutes until Bart pulls back with a small smile.

“Tim probably won’t be out for long,” he says softly. “Go get changed into something not stained with his blood, and bring something clean for him too, okay? I’ll make sure everything stays stable.”

Kon nods, stumbling his way to his feet and mindlessly making his way down to the residential floors. He finds his bedroom with ease, shucking his t-shirt into the trash, even though it’s soon enough that he could still get the blood out if he really wanted to. (He doesn’t want to even think about it.) He kicks off his boots and drops his jeans into the laundry hamper, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a plain shirt.

He doesn’t really think about it when he grabs a pair of his old sweats—worn and soft from years of use before he outgrew them—and a warm sweatshirt and pair of thick socks for Tim instead of bringing the boy his own clothes. Tim steals his clothes all the time, and the larger sizes will be easier to get him into than his own anyway.

Kon doesn’t realize that he’s floating until he’s back in the medical bay, staring at Tim’s prone figure when Cassie wraps gentle fingers around his elbow and leads him to Tim’s bed. Kon’s eyes sweep over his best friend, stomach clenching.

Since he’s been gone, Tim’s been stripped out of his torn and bloody sweatshirt, and Bart’s connected all the monitors needed to track his stats. The monitors display all of Tim’s information, his heart monitor beeping steadily as everything begins to return to normal levels. Bart’s also set up an IV and blood bag, and the sight of it makes Kon flinch.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Cassie soothes. “Bart said that the main reason Tim hasn’t woke up yet is the sedative in his system. The fluids will hopefully flush it out quicker, and the blood bag is just to help replace what he lost.” She rubs soothing circles on his back. “It looked worse than it was, okay? The blood smears made it look like he’d lost a lot more blood than he did.”

Kon nods numbly, and Cassie gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“The woman already being processed at Belle Reve. From what I heard, she’s an intern at that lab Tim was investigating, and she was experimenting on herself.” Cassie shakes her head, somewhere between disgusted and amused. “She rearranged her own genetic makeup to mimic that of a traditional vampire’s. Said she wanted to live her life to its fullest potential or something. She’s being investigated now, but she’s going away for a long time, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Kon’s voice is soft, barely-there and scratchy.

Cassie offers him a tense smile. “I’m going to go change and start writing up the reports. I’ll need to send something to Batman and the League. Why don’t you stay here? Get Tim changed into clean clothes and make sure that he’s not alone when he wakes up. The sedative’s weak, so who knows when it will wear off.”

Kon nods once more, and Cassie gives him a brief hug before retreating. Bart gives him a hug of his own before taking off to take a shower and write his own report. And, Kon thinks, to give him space to process and decompress.

Kon moves mechanically as he slides Tim’s jeans off his hips, folding them and setting them on the back counter. He’s careful to keep from touching Tim as he works the large sweatpants up Tim’s legs until they rest on his waist. He can’t get the sweatshirt on without disturbing the IV, so he sets it aside and pulls down one of the blankets from the cabinets instead.

All of the titans keep personal blankets and pillows in the med bay. It’s easier to wake up and be stuck in the damned hospital beds with something more comfortable than the standard, scratchy fabrics. They also keep a set of clothes up here, but Kon forgets in his rush to strip out of the bloody t-shirt and simply follows Bart’s suggestion. Now, he’s pretty sure Bart is just trying to get him out of the room as he finishes up.

Kon wraps the blanket, which is a thick, fuzzy blue that’s the same color as his eyes, around Tim’s shoulder, tucking it in along his side. He leaves the arm with the IV out, resting on top of the blanket and instead tucking it in.

It feels slightly ridiculous sliding Tim’s feet into a pair of socks, but Kon knows that Tim’s circulation isn’t the best, and as a result, his hands and feet are always freezing cold.

When he finishes making sure Tim is as clean and comfortable as he’s going to get in the med bay, Kon drops into the chair next to his bed. He reaches out, grabbing onto Tim’s hand, careful not to disturb his IV and the monitor resting on his finger.

Kon takes a deep breath and finally relaxes. The exhaustion fully sinks in, and Kon practically melts into the chair. He looks over Tim once more, happy to find that his skin has regained some of its color. His pulse is stronger, steady, and he looks almost like he’s sleeping, not drugged and recovering from what could have been massive blood loss.

The bruises are already appearing on his skin, still red and puffy, yet to darken into the black and purple they’ll remain for the following several days. Kon catalogs each and every one of them when he tucks the blanket around Tim.

Around his ribs, circling the entirety of his wrists (one of which he notices is in a brace; sprained or broken, he’s not sure), and blooming around his neck and peeking out from the gauze, originating from the puncture marks that started the whole mess to begin with.

Kon shakes with rage when he sees the hickeys peppered along Tim’s shoulder and collarbone. He’s sure there’s more covered by the gauze on his throat, and he wishes he made sure to get another hit or two in on the bitch who attacked him.

Even more, he feels guilty for taking so long to find Tim after his heartbeat spikes the first time. There was a woman cornered by four different men, and it took him longer then he wants to admit to subdue them and make sure the woman isn’t going to be followed.

It takes him time to find Tim’s heartbeat again. He knows Tim’s resting heartbeat like the back of his hand, but it’s much harder to find him when his heartbeat is beating faster or slower than normal.

When he finally finds Tim, it’s too late to keep him from being hurt.

Beyond that, they, as a team, agree to let Tim go undercover in the first place. Even if Tim himself agrees to the plan, they all know that they don’t have enough information to pull off an undercover op successfully. And Tim was hurt because of it.

Kon laughs at himself when he realizes that Tim will be furious if he hears any of them blaming themselves. He’ll probably take out his IV and beat them into submission until they accept that they didn’t get him hurt. If they manage to keep him in bed, he’ll just give them the lecture. (He’ll probably even throw in the Alfred Glare TM, which is much, much scarier than the Bat Glare will ever be.)

Kon finds his eyes drifting shut as he fades in and out of a light sleep. He wakes up every time Tim shifts or makes any sort of noise. He falls back asleep fairly quickly, though his hand never leaves Tim’s.

At some point, someone turns off the med bay’s lights and drapes Kon’s blanket over his shoulders. He’s not sure how long he sleeps or how many times he wakes, only that he checks Tim’s stats each time before he falls back asleep.

Hours after they’ve returned to the Tower, Kon jolts awake when he feels the hand in his squeeze his fingers. He rubs the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, and glances down at the bed, only to see Tim struggling to sit up on his own. Kon is suddenly wide awake.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, “Slow down. I’ve got you.”

Tim hesitates before sinking back into the bed, allowing Kon to loosen the blanket and adjust the bed’s settings until Tim is half-upright, though his weight is still completely supported by the bed.

“Do you want some water?”

Tim nods, not trusting his voice to speak clearly. Kon squeezes his hands and gets up, filling a plastic cup with water from the sink and returning seconds later. He hands the cup to Tim, urging him to drink slowly. Tim only half-listens. When the cup is empty, Kon sets it aside and reaches out for Tim’s hand once again. He hesitates halfway, instead letting his hand drop to the bed, inches away from Tim’s own.

“How are you feeling?”

Tim rolls his eyes and takes Kon’s hand, twining their fingers together and holding on tight. “Could be better, could be worse,” he says. His voice is as hoarse as he fears it will be.

Kon offers him a shaky smile before his expression just collapses. He bends at the waist, staring at the ground before he squeezes his eyes shut, sucking in a harsh breath.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Tim whacks him upside the head.

Kon looks up and is too surprised to do anything other than blink at the other boy incredulously.

Tim’s glare is something fierce, and a shudder runs up Kon’s spine at the sight of it. Tim reaches over, grabbing both of Kon’s hands in his as the blanket falls to his waist.

“It’s not your fault,” Tim says firmly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. “We all agreed to the plan. We all agreed it wasn’t as good as it should be. We all took the risk. It was a decision we made as a team.”

Kon swallows thickly. “But I was _late_. I… I got there and she was… God, I’m so sorry, Tim.”

“Not your fault,” Tim repeats. “What matters is you were there in time. Nothing happened that hasn’t happened before. It happens to everyone who goes undercover at some point.” He tilts his head to the side. “Well, the whole vampire schtick was new, I guess. Haven’t seen that one before.”

Kon chokes on a wet laugh, shaking his head as he smiles. “Yeah. Genetically engineered vampires, man. Who knew?”

“What a waste of talent,” Tim says seriously. “Honestly, smart enough to give a human meta abilities without experimenting on actual metas? And you use that science to turn yourself into a Twilight character? A total waste, Kon, seriously.”

“She was an intern, actually.”

Tim groans. “That’s even worse! Imagine what she could have done with a complete education and an actual mentor on legitimate projects.”

Kon nods in solemn agreement. “A true waste of potential.”

The boys burst into laughter, Kon leaning his forehead against Tim’s non-injured shoulder. He’s finally regained some of his natural body heat, but Tim still nestles into Kon’s touch. Kryptonians run hot, and Kon has never been happier for it.

Eventually, they pull away. Kon forces down another rolling wave of guilt when Tim winces, his hand going to his throat. Tim must see it because he raises a hand threateningly. Kon just smiles and shakes his head.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he says.

“Me too.” Tim looks down at his lap, shoulders suddenly caving forward. “I’m not going to lie… I was scared for a minute there. She was stronger than I expected, and when she had me against that wall, for a second I thought…”

Tim trails off, and Kon takes the chance to reach forward. He gently sets his hands on Tim’s shoulders, wary of the bruising. He can now see more bruising on his upper back and shoulder blades, but Kon forces himself not to linger on the added injuries. Instead, he leans down and makes sure that he catches Tim’s eye.

“I was late, and I’ll be sorry about that until I mess up again and I have another thing to feel guilty about. Because that’s going to happen. We get hurt, and it sucks, but we’re here for each other. Okay?”

Tim nods, though he tries to look away. Kon goes to tilt his chin up, but pulls back when he remembers the scratches from the woman’s nails on his cheeks. Instead, he moves to the edge of the bed and pulls Tim into his chest, arms loose so that Tim can pull away whenever he wants.

“I’m going to be here for you as long as I can, Tim. I promise. Shit happens, we know that now. We’ve both been through hell and come back kicking and screaming. But I will be there for you as long as I possibly can. I won’t leave you again, even if I have to fight my way through the goddamn multiverse to find you.”

Tim finally looks up, though he doesn’t pull out of the hug. His eyes are watery as he searches for what to say. “I… Thank you, Kon. Just… thank you.”

“Of course,” Kon says. “You would do the same for me. And you’re tiny.”

Tim laughs wetly, furiously rubbing at his eyes as he does. “Asshole.”

Kon smiles, nudging Tim gently with his elbow. “You love it.”

Tim wraps his arms around Kon to finally return the hug, burying his face into the crook of Kon’s neck. He breathes deeply, inhaling the comforting scent of something purely Kon. The detergent Ma Kent uses, the smell of chalk from the gym downstairs, even the faintest hint of the cologne that Kon only wears when he absolutely has to.

His fingers twist into the fabric of Kon’s shirt, and he ignores the tug on his IV line, the grinding protest of his ribs, and focuses on Kon.

He ignores it all, because Kon is there, holding him, tight enough to be reassuring, but gentle enough to keep him from hurting. He’s warm and solid and steady. He’s grounding, reminding Tim of where he is and why he’s here.

He’s Kon, and to Tim, that explains it all.


	2. Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really unsatisfied with the ending of this short. I varied from the notes about halfway through the draft, so the ending seen in the first part is pretty much the opposite of what I was planning. This one is closer to my original notes, but I'm still not super happy with it.
> 
> Maybe it's just me being a perfectionist.

Hours after they’ve returned to the Tower, Kon jolts awake when he feels the hand in his squeeze his fingers. He rubs the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, and glances down at the bed, only to see Tim struggling to sit up on his own. Kon is suddenly wide awake.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, “Slow down. I’ve got you.”

Tim hesitates before sinking back into the bed, allowing Kon to loosen the blanket and adjust the bed’s settings until Tim is half-upright, though his weight is still completely supported by the bed.

“Do you want some water?”

Tim nods, not trusting his voice to speak clearly. Kon squeezes his hand and gets up, filling a plastic cup with water from the sink and returning seconds later. He hands the cup to Tim, urging him to drink slowly. Tim only half-listens. When the cup is empty, Kon sets it aside and reaches out for Tim’s hand once again. He hesitates halfway, instead letting his hand drop to the bed, inches away from Tim’s own.

“How are you feeling?”

Tim rolls his eyes and takes Kon’s hand, twining their fingers together and holding on tight. “Could be better, could be worse,” he says. His voice is as hoarse as he fears it will be.

Kon doesn’t seem to mind as he releases a deep, heavy breath, shoulders slumping forward. “’M sorry I was late; that was a dick move.”

Tim chokes on a sudden laugh. “Trust me,” he says, “I’ve seen worse. Remember when Ra’s told me when wanted me to be his heir, then kicked me out the window? You at least have manners.”

“I would hope so,” Kon says with a laugh of his own. “Ma would have my hide if she thought I was being disrespectful.”

“Good woman,” says Tim. “I see why she and Alfred get along.”

Kon shakes his head. “Drives Clark up a wall, but honestly, I think that’s one reason she does it. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she gave Alfred her apple pie recipe just because she knew Clark was being an ass and would see it when he flew to Gotham to bitch at Bruce over some League business.”

Tim laughs, trying and failing to reign himself in when it makes his throat ache. Kon smiles at him, squeezing his hands before pulling back.

“I really am sorry,” he says. His eyes fall to his lap where his fingers have curled into his palms. “I heard your heartbeat spike, but there was this woman being followed, and these guys were little pricks with baseball bats. By the time I made it to you, she had you pinned against that wall. Your heartbeat was slowing down and skipping beats. I just lost it.”

He startles when he feels Tim’s hands on his shoulders.

“It’s not your fault,” Tim says softly. “We’re superheroes. It happens sometimes; it’s happened to all of us before.”

“I know but…” Kon draws in a sharp breath, unable to look at Tim, whose hands on his shoulders are both a comforting reminder that he’s still here and a reminder of the guilt that’s making his insides churn.

“Kon, please look at me. What’s going on? I’ve never seen you this upset over something like this.”

“Something like this?” Kon finally looks up, shaking his head with a choked, wet laugh. “Tim, when I found you, you were covered in blood and she had her hands all over you. I thought she’d gone straight to your carotid and that nothing I could do would help you.”

“I’m fine, though. It looked much worse than it was. And yeah, she was handsy, but that happens in undercover ops. I haven’t seen you this upset about it since that guy cornered Cassie at that underground auction when you two were dating.”

Kon looks at Tim incredulously. For a moment, he wonders if Tim is still as emotionally dense as he was when they first formed Young Justice all those years ago. He shakes his head, a wry smile finding its way onto his lips.

“You idiot,” he says fondly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim grumbles, “I was the idiot caught by the Twilight wannabe. Don’t rub it in.”

Kon rolls his eyes. Stupid Bat training. It covers everything except emotions and healthy communication outside the field apparently.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kon says.

“Oh?”

Shaking his head, Kon slowly leans forward, very obviously telegraphing what he’s planning on doing, giving Tim plenty of time to pull back if he wants to. Tim’s eyes are as wide as a child’s on Christmas morning, but he doesn’t pull away when Kon’s lips brush softly against his, nothing more than a chaste press of their lips.

When Kon pulls back moments later, all Tim can do is blink for several seconds. Kon tries not to laugh when he sees Tim process exactly what happens, then allows it to actually sink in and compute.

“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah,” Kon teases. “Oh.”

“That makes a lot more sense actually.”

They’re both laughing, Kon shaking his head and Tim pulling him out of his chair and onto the edge of the bed. He wraps his arms around Kon’s middle, burying his face into Kon’s shoulder and grinning.

“Stupid bat training.”

Tim scoffs. “Stupid bat training,” he agrees as Kon finally hugs him back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, this wasn't too weird. I was really unsatisfied with the ending, and everyone was totally OOC. Apologies.
> 
> Come chat with me on my pitifully empty Tumblr at hey-its-lyn


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